


An Unusual Favor

by ToxoplasmaFabulousa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Prompt Fill, sansan fest 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxoplasmaFabulousa/pseuds/ToxoplasmaFabulousa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Sansan Fest 2015 on LJ:</p><p>After Sandor saves Sansa during the Bread Riots, Sansa attempts to give Sandor a favor and receive one from him as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unusual Favor

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the exact details of the Bread Riot (i.e. which horse Sansa and Sandor escape on).

The bread riots would be forever ingrained with sensations in Sansa’s memory. 

The sight of the rest of the king’s entourage leaving her behind as the mob swallowed her up.  The sound of the screaming, roiling mob calling for death.  The feel of coarse dirty hands yanking her off of her horse and throwing her to the ground.  The smell of garlic on one man’s breath.  The taste of bile in the back of her throat as the men pawed at her.

But there were good sensations, as well. 

The sight of the Hound cutting through the crowd to get towards her.  The sound of his grating laughter as he fought the mob away.  The smell of leather and horse that emanated from him as she pressed her nose into his back to try to block out the frightening scene.  The taste of sweet, clean air as they entered the gates of the Red Keep.

Most surprisingly, though, she could remember the feel of Sandor Clegane’s hair.

He had picked her up off of the ground when the mob had her on her back and were ready to do _anything_ to her; she had grasped at her savior desperately.   Her hands had wound themselves in his hair and pulled him close due to the sheer relief that someone, anyone had come back to save her.

The beauty of his hair surprised her.  It was as soft as the downy hair that covered Rickon’s head when he was born.  It was smoother than Lady’s fur that Sansa had loved to bury her face in at night.  It was more lustrous than the deepest black silk that came from the farthest end of Essos.

In the days that followed the riot, an idea began to fester in Sansa’s mind: she wanted a lock of his hair to keep as a token of remembrance of that awful event and of her gallant savior.

She had always loved the legendary story of Elyse Goldenhair.  Elyse pledged never to cut her hair since she claimed not even the earth was worthy of owning it.  However, when she was locked in a tower by evil Ser Moridin, she fell in love with a lowly soldier who saved her.  As a sign of her love, she shaved off all of her hair and gave it to him.  In memory of it, he asked her to sew a tapestry, using her hair as the thread for the sun.

Because of the legend, it was said knights and maidens in High Garden often exchanged tokens of gratitude in the form of locks of hair.

Sansa couldn’t imagine Sandor participating in a tradition like that – especially with her – so she tried to rid herself of the idea.

 _I’ll just thank him for saving me from the riot.  Once I do that, I’ll get this silly idea out of my head_. She told herself.  So she steeled herself to thank him and broach the subject of his hair as he escorted her back to her rooms after court.

As he walked beside her, she could see the shadow of his imposing figure fall ahead of her in the darkened hall way and cleared her throat.

“I’d like to thank you for the other day,” she started.  He turned his head towards her sharply, his expression bland.  “You know, for saving me during the riots.  You were so brave.”

He barked a harsh laugh.  “Brave?  They had me thirty to one and not a man dared face me.” He rasped. 

“I thank you all the same for it.” She replied calmly, and turned her head to face forward. 

 _Of course that wouldn’t have worked.  He’s mean and cruel and awful.  He couldn’t even except my apology, let alone accept my request for a lock of hair as a token._ She moped as she finally made it to her door.  _He’s almost as bad as that war horse of his_.

That thought struck her even more profoundly than her first.  The Hound would never be a gallant knight from the stories, but his war horse was a noble steed.  The more she thought of it the more she realized it wasn’t really the Hound who saved her the day of the Bread Riots but his horse.

Sandor only came back for her, but his horse was the one that fought and kicked through the crowd to get to her and then ran them both all the way back to the Red Keep.  His horse was the true hero and he was nothing but the butcher’s arm that sliced away at the crowd.

Sandor wasn’t worthy of her admiration.  It was his blasphemously named war horse, Stranger, that was.

 

 

Sansa had worked tirelessly for a fortnight on her favor for her true savior.  She has sewn a beautiful saddle blanket made of the softest lamb’s wool she could find.  The thick, black wool was chosen as a compliment to his glossy black coat.  She had decorated the edges with delicate red filigree as a reminder of the blood he had spilt kicking his way through the crowd.  On each corner she had sewn a small red bird.  Instead of using thread for the bird, though, she had used a strand of her hair. 

 _Just like Elyse Goldenhair._  Sansa beamed as she entered the stable.

“My Lady,” a young stable hand called, “would you like me to saddle your chestnut mare?”

“No thank you.  I’m just passing through.” She replied with her brightest smile.  She meandered through the back of the stable, looking for the handsome beast.

He was in a stall near the back.  The sun that slipped through the loose slates of the roof shone against his shiny black coat.  His mane had been left loose and flowing so that when he tossed his head it rippled behind him.

 _Though he is just a horse, this is what a hero should look like.  He’d never say a cruel word to me nor mock me_.

Sansa approached his stall with the blanket folded under one arm.  She reached her hand up towards the latch on his stall but immediately pulled her hand back.

Stranger’s teeth closed around air where only moments before her hand had been.

Sansa stood startled for a moment before she regained her composure. 

“It’s alright Stranger.  Look, I have a treat for you!” she cooed at the horse.  He softly nickered once and tossed his head again, showing off his thick mane.

Sansa grabbed the apple she had gotten him out of her bag and held it out hesitantly.  She took a slow step forward and waited for him to take it. 

Stranger grabbed the apple out of her hand and stepped back from the entrance of the stall.  With a breath of relief, Sansa grabbed the latch and began to open the stall door. 

Suddenly Stranger was back and rammed the door open, knocking Sansa backwards and onto her bottom.  She felt the wind rush out of her and she couldn’t breathe.

As she concentrated on trying to take shallow steady breathes she heard a barking laugh.  She sat up slightly to see the Hound leaning against Stranger’s stall door, one hand carelessly rubbing the horse’s nose.

“Looks like the Little Bird fell from her nest.” He grated with a horrid smirk on his face.  It twisted his scars so badly that she could hardly look but she forced herself to stare into his eyes.  They were full of amusement with a touch of scorn instead of the pure anger that usually resided there.

“It’s nothing.  It doesn’t even matter.” She whimpered as she got up, grabbing the dropped saddle blanket and dusting her dress off.  Hay, dirt, and the Mother knew what else now covered her backside. 

 _My maids are going to tell Cersei how dirty my dress is_. She thought morosely.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.  There’s no reason for a proper little lady like you to be slumming around in the stables, especially around such a wretched beast like him.” The Hound rasped, patting the side of Stranger’s face affectionately for emphasis. 

“I shouldn’t have even come down here.  It was a stupid idea and I’m a stupid little girl for even thinking of it.” She muttered as tears started to fill her eyes and she turned to walk away.

“Wait, Lady Sansa,” he said, polite for once.  His large hand gently grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away.  “Tell me what you came down here for.  You walked all the way down from your chambers and faced off against my horse.  You must have wanted something important.”

She faced him slowly and looked up.

 _Heavens, he is tall_ she thought as she craned her neck to look at him.  His eyes were calm unlike the stormy sea they so often resembled.  _They look like father’s eyes used to…_

“I made him a saddle blanket.  It was meant to be a favor for him since he helped saved me from the mob during the riots.” She explained as she held up the blanket.

Sandor lifted the blanket from her hand and unfolded it.

“Why would you make something so fine for a horse?  Besides, it wasn’t him that saved you.  Shouldn’t you be thanking me?  _I_ was the one who came back for you when they had you on your back.” He said, his tone becoming bitter the longer he spoke.  His eyes roved over the intricate embroidery along the border.  His large thumb gingerly brushed the small red bird on one corner.

“I _did_ try to thank you but you wouldn’t accept it.  You just mocked me.  I thought that he would appreciate my thanks more than you would.” She groused.  Sandor chuckled softly as a rueful smile tugged at the burnt corner of his mouth.  His eyes left the blanket and met hers directly.

“I accept your thanks, _my lady_ ,” he said as he bowed slightly.  Sansa’s heart stuttered for a moment.  _It’s almost like a song._   “It was my sincerest pleasure to save your little highborn arse from those whoresons.  I only wish I had more of them to hack through.”

Sansa’s smiled immediately faltered as the Hound cackled and straightened up.  She huffed and began to turn away as his mocking laughter followed her.

 

 

That night at supper, Sansa hardly had an appetite.  She picked at her food sadly.

 _Life isn’t a song and I just need to learn that.  No matter how much I try, nothing will ever turn out like it does in the songs_.  She ruminated as Joffrey nattered on cruelly next to her.  She excused herself from the hall as soon as she could without drawing attention to herself and made her way back to her rooms.

She opened the door and felt her foot kick something across the darkened ground.  She hastily lit a candle and searched the ground for the item.

It was a small envelope folded from parchment that was completely blank.  She sat down at her vanity and broke the small, black wax seal.  She felt something fall onto her lap but she paid it no attention since her eyes were glued to the scrap of paper covered in masculine scrawl.

_You’re not Elyse Goldenhair and I’m not your knight.  I accept your thanks nonetheless._

Sansa looked down in her lap to see a thin lock of coal black hair wrapped in an autumn yellow bow.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:
> 
> Prompt: 18. At some point Sansa touches Sandor's hair (maybe Bread Riot escape, or some other canon or non-canon event). She is surprised at the silkiness of his long, straight, ink black mane. She is obsessed with getting a lock to braid and wear as a hidden charm to give her strength when he is not there to protect her.  
> What happens when he finds out about her charm, will he suspect witchcraft or a joke directed at him. Will he find it endearing (as much as our Hound can)?


End file.
